"Prince Jaune Arc, in his personal investigation aided by access to the White Fang's seat of power, has today confirmed a startling discovery. The pro-faunus organization, often thought of as a monolith, had in fact undergone what was essentially a silent usurpation by key elements within the regime in recent times, matching with the upturn in violent terrorism on civilian targets Remnant-wide. This coup is ultimately responsible for the foiled plot earlier in the week to assassinate key figures on both sides of the conflict in Menagerie including the figurehead of the White Fang, Sienna Khan, as a response to her call to lay down arms and the prince himself for his efforts to uncover the conspiracy. The extent to which the conspiracy has subsume the once-peaceful activist group is unknown at the current time, but the prince has this to say:

Victory is not a matter of spilling the most blood, but of justice. Short-sighted minds would suggest we slaughter the captured White Fang High Command wholesale so we can get home by Dustmas. Those of a more nuanced understanding know that the work of the Arcadian First Volunteer Expedition is far from over. Now begins the long process of ensuring justice is duly served. I, prince Jaune Arc of Arcadia, declare today that I will remain in Menagerie until such time that all parties responsible for the atrocities committed in the name of the White Fang have been arrested and their many crimes brought to light in public trial…"
-VNT exclusive news report, featuring an interview with prince Jaune Arc conducted by Lisa Lavender. November 7, 81 GWE.

-o-

November 11, 81 GWE

Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Never no, sir.

So went the storied career of General James Ironwood, youngest of his rank in all of Atlas history.

And, the absolute bottom of the totem pole after a long succession of totem poles. Born to meekly take his orders. Barking like a dog for those above him, because even for a general, there were hierarchies.

An angelfish flitted across his view in the massive aquarium that took the place of a wall in the reception hall. The water tank's glass pane went from floor to ceiling, and its decor emulated a coral reef. The staff had stocked it with dozens of exotic species to present a colorful tableau. To him, it seemed a needless waste, as was the mansion he currently stood in. Grandiosity to satisfy the ego of the nobleman heading up Mistral's diplomatic efforts.

Yet, in truth, he almost envied these creatures. Were this the wild sea, they would be devouring one another. The big fish gulping down on the little fish. The little fish banding together in schools, eating the bigger fish should the opportunity ever arise. A safe retreat as this aquarium was a treasure, for real life was a mad, chaotic mess.

In his younger days at the Academy, James had believed otherwise, taught that there was an order to the world through the rigid structure of the Atlas military. And while a poor superior might enter his orbit once in a while, they were obviously the exception to the rule. Those men and women never make it to the top, he thought, and with starry eyes did he imagine what the position of General would entail.

The respect. The responsibility. The vision. To stand alongside them was to be of a different breed.

He had not spat on the ground since his time as a lieutenant, deeming it unbefitting, yet the urge resurfaced after all these years. Restraining himself, James continued to peer into the clear water with an impassive face. Although, anyone going too near would notice the slight curl to the corner of his mouth, signifying his displeasure.

In this aquarium, he saw what life could be, the future he dreamt of in his youth. The purpose of these fish was to live well, someone cultivating them with care to coexist in harmony. They enjoyed eternal peace under the guiding hand of a person who simply sought their health and happiness.

What might Atlas have been, had he stood at the helm. What might he have been, removed from the backbiting politics that infest the Atlas Council and has long since spilled over to the military. The first hour would see him divest the chain of command of outside influences, namely the Schnee. Something that would never happen so long as the bootlicking old men continue to outrank him.

He often wondered if the past few weeks were meant to be his punishment for speaking out of turn. Forcing him to play the same game of politics he hated in a Kingdom that has dialed it to eleven and made it an art form sounded like the kind of trick any one among the many of his influential detractors would play.

Day after day of skirting around issues, concealing what he wanted while trying to ask for that exact thing without giving the appearance that he had any great need of it. Trading favor for favor, except he has to ensure that what he gave was as empty as air while demanding concrete promises in return. All intelligence pointed to his counterpart being a cunning snake of a man, yet Jame still had to behave as if the man was a blind idiot who should jump through hoops with glee for the Atlesian delegation, only to report back to his superiors who acted with such surprise when he accomplished nothing.

The sound of footsteps prompted him to look to the left, seeing one of the nobleman's aides walking towards him. A new round of negotiations was ready to commence, then. For a brief moment, he considered setting off at once for the hallway that would lead him to a familiar meeting room. By now, directions were unnecessary, and it would bypass hearing the official prattle on about 'magnanimous this' and 'gracious that". The people working in Mistral's Office of Foreign Affairs had a knack for tacking on adjectives and metaphors to every other word in a sentence, and could drag out the simple instruction of 'the meeting is this way, sir' to a five-minute ode about the head of the department. In his opinion, flowery speech should be reserved for poets, though he suspected 'poet' and 'government employee' might hold the same connotation in Mistral.

James Ironwood released the stray impulse, and instead settled in where he was, allowing the entire song and dance to play out. There were few chances remaining to hear it, after all. New orders had come down from on high last night.

Funny how a person can loathe something with a burning passion one day, and on the next realize that they wished with all their might for it to continue on another month, or even year. Because, despite his distaste for the endless pomp and circumstance, he found this meandering situation where nothing gets done preferable to one that was resolved, where the two Great Kingdoms hashed out an agreement. He dreaded what it entailed.

What did it say, that their best solution to The Report was to conscript the people of Menagerie as unpaid laborers?

No, call it what it truly was. Slaves.

The chickens have come to roost, and he would have laughed were it not Atlas that paid the price. A series of 'easy' choices helped develop the Dust mining economy that drove their Kingdom's meteoric advances. The cheapest, the quickest, the most efficient. As a side-effect, it turned an entire island into their enemy, or the closest thing to it in so-called peacetime. The tradeoff was deemed acceptable at the top level.

Well, now the entire damn island turned out to be a Dust mine the likes of which Atlas has never seen, and it also turned out that Atlas has closed off the true 'easiest' choice. Establishing a partnership with Menagerie was no longer in the cards, compromises impossible. Realpolitik positioned them to carry out one plan: total subjugation.

And they had chosen James to command the mission.

The arrival of the merchants had granted him hope of a reprieve. The adamant insistence of his superiors to proceed with the plan crushed that delusion. The settlement that fancied themselves important was a persistent annoyance, more useful existing than not, yet they stood a chance of succeeding where Atlas was doomed to fail. Have succeeded, if his reading between the lines of their half-truths proved accurate.

There lay the crux of the dilemma. That Dust belonged to Atlas, or it shall belong to none. Arcadia was on the chopping block now, too. Another nightmare to plague his conscience on sleepless nights.

Too soon, the aide's long-winded speech drew to a close. The young man regarded James oddly, having detected a change to his usual response—James blamed his seeming rapt attention, it was most uncharacteristic. The result of the meeting should leave the aide flabbergasted, then. Atlas has cleared him to increase their concessions to Mistral by an absurd margin, willing to pay any price if it meant Atlas ships can fly again before Arcadia decides to make a new move. The treasure buried in the southern island would recoup the cost of this failed smoke-and-mirrors gambit manifold, he supposed was their rationalization.

As he strode behind the official on the way to the meeting room, James threw a last look back over his shoulder to the aquarium, and dreamt of a world where he was a leader rather than a lapdog. Would the day ever come?

Perhaps it was all pointless pontification. Walking this path will surely damn him to follow in the footsteps of his predecessors, and walk it he would. He must.

All for that ever-star of the north, Remnant's guiding light, the bearer of its burden and future. For the city that will one day save the world.

For Atlas, he would always say…

Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Never no, sir.

-o-

"The Chieftain of Menagerie, in his first televised appearance in three years, has announced his full endorsement for the prince of Arcadia to assume an oversight role over the settlement through the foreseeable future. How will the addition of a human in Menagerian governance improve the mainly-faunus island settlement? We go to our expert…"
-Mistral City News, World Events segment. November 7, 81 GWE.

-o-

November 11, 81 GWE

In the early morning, as the world continued to celebrate the downfall of the White Fang leadership, five Arcadian airships descended from the sky over a stretch of savannah located far into the continent, east-southeast of Kuo Kuana. Dry, brittle grass was crushed underneath the massive vessels as they made their landing. The fluttering wings then powered down, the dozens of thin metal sheets on each craft folding in the manner of insect wings, fluid in movement and seeming as if they should belong to living creatures. Ramps extended to connect with the ground as the exit doors opened, and from four ships came hundreds of Menagerie's citizens, with the last disgorging their belongings and pallets of extra supplies including food, water, and building materials.

Shielding their eyes from the burning sun, they took in their surroundings. Expressions trended towards apprehension due to the vast majority of them having never gone more than a half-hour's journey away from the city, but there were a few who looked at the vast grassland and distant horizon with something akin to awe. It was a world they have never known back behind the walls.

The rows of large shacks soon drew their attention. They were simple box constructions built sturdy so as to weather the elements. A cluster of the buildings bore labels in big letters over their entrances: Administrative Office, Infirmary, General Store, Bar, Recreation Hall, and so on. The rest carried letter-number designations: A01, A02, A03, B01, etc. These were the living quarters according to the pamphlets provided to them earlier in the week when they signed on, which made up the bulk of the temporary town that will be their home for the next few months.

Past that lay the worksite itself, the preliminary steps completed days earlier. Mine-shafts burrowed into the earth, terminating just deep enough for the miners to begin excavating the shallowest veins of Dust. A skeleton crew composed of Arcadians was doing just that, though they had stopped their operations upon spotting the new arrivals. Amicable, they waved to their future fellow miners.

A sprawling set of buildings marked as the refinery sat on the edge of the area. It differed from the rest of the town in its composition, made of metal and appearing prefabricated; Arcadia had constructed the pieces long beforehand and shipped it over to the island in modular sections that they have put together onsite. The efficiency of the refining process lapsed in comparison to a dedicated facility, but time weighed greater as a consideration for now.

Under a pavilion set below the airship La Lune Verte, a small party observed the proceedings, protected by a ring of guards. Jaune, ruler of Menagerie in all but name, maintained an inscrutable demeanor as he sipped from a cup of tea. He was gauging the reaction of Kali Belladonna, spouse to the Chieftain of Menagerie, who was here to inspect the site a second time. Did she or her husband know much about mining? Probably not, and he expected she would assign someone for that side of things going forward while she oversaw the workers' health and rights, which were the major concerns voiced by the Belladonnas that resulted in this arrangement. Understandable, as anytime the words 'Dust mine' and 'faunus' were said in one breath nowadays would raise red flags.

"They're getting a warm welcome. That's good, right?" a voice on the other side of the woman said, sounding antsy.

Aaah, Blake. She was going to be a useful partner, he can tell. The desire to see Menagerie rise coupled with a sense of personal involvement meant she already saw the project as her responsibility, and had done what she could to ensure her side of this endeavor remained amenable. Having her nearby in case the last member in their group went berserk helped ease his mind, too. Guards or no guards, if Sienna Khan wanted his death to the point of forfeiting hers, then she might well succeed. Even weaponless, a person with Aura and combat training was a deadly creature. More so when they walked free under their own power.

"It may be a staged event. The SDC has performed such ruses many times before. Question is, would the honored prince of Arcadia believe us simpletons and do the same?" asked the former White Fang High Leader, the barest trace of scorn lining her words.

Official reports to the world had her under house arrest pending an investigation. Honestly, that was closer to his original plan of chucking her in a prison cell than this. The woman loathed humankind on an instinctual level, so standing near her was a tad detrimental to his future prospects. What a conundrum, then, that Chieftain Ghira raised the condition of her freedom—alongside many of the organization's upper echelons—as part of the surrender talks, insisting that she fell on the moderate side of the White Fang's violent ideology. A conundrum, yet one he ultimately found acceptable as her nominal cooperation with his regime forestalled further hostilities, and saved him the precious time it would take to install someone else from the lower ranks of the White Fang able to pacify the malcontents among them. Thus far, she has hidden her animosity well, sticking to an attitude of mild disagreement, which he can handle. Or rather, which Blake can handle.

The younger catgirl shot the woman a nasty look, and retorted, "If he really was the same as the SDC, then we would be in that mine and not just looking at it."

"As she said." Jaune tacked on, speaking calmly. One thing he liked about Blake's fierce temperament? He can present himself as the reasonable one during these conversations, which did wonders in making other people listen to his words—it might be deliberate on her part for that very reason, though he has yet to verify for certain and hesitate to ask. "I adhere to the Arcadian model of society, Ms. Khan, and I very much disagree with the one put forth by the Schnee. However, if you cannot trust my personal views on the matter of humans and faunus, then believe that I have a vested interest in seeing this Dust mine run smoothly, which equates to as few disruptions as possible, accidental or otherwise."

Despite the news he released to the world of their decisive victory, reports sent by his contacts concurred that Atlas was refusing to bow out of this contest, so the last thing he needed with the Great Kingdom looming over the near future was his source of ammunition and fuel shutting down due to sabotage. With that in mind, he had made clear his expectations to the people assigned to the project. Instead of immediate profit, the priority was to draw in more Menagerians willing to work in the mines yet unopened, letting Arcadia scale operations up as they build a stockpile of resources to rival their northern adversary.

"As we have agreed, Mrs. Belladonna and her office are provided with a constant line of communication to their onsite representatives. They will keep you abreast of any concerns to the miners." he further assured his guests.

Sienna looked ready to say more, but was quieted from a touch on her arm by Kali, who said, "Peace, Sienna. I suggest we wait for my people to update us over the coming days before forming a conclusion. From what we have seen so far, the prince is meeting the standards he set on paper." She nodded in his direction as a show of approval.

Odd, though. He kept getting a chill every time she turned his way, even when she acted cordial. It made him long for the reassurance of his personal Hardlight shield. Lacking that, his best bet was to play it cool. Let her see the pressure slide right off of him, and be impressed.

"The bar is not difficult to meet, in truth, since I am both the person in charge and the financier." Technically, that was Arcadia, but his grandfather as good as granted him free reins. "I have no board of directors or shareholders demanding I squeeze Lien out of my people until they bleed to meet a quarterly growth forecast. The simplicity allows room to pursue true mutual benefit between us. Atlas can never give you that."

Kali gave a hum of agreement at the remark, but it was the thoughtful narrowing of Sienna's eyes that surprised him.

"They have the clout to behave as monsters. That's what makes the fight against their tyranny such a struggle. This—" she waved a hand to indicate the mining town— "is a pretty picture, but it would not mean a thing in the long run if you cannot thwart their aim. What is the worth of your promise in the face of elements too powerful for you to control?"

"Why do you think our partnership starts here? Dust can have a number of uses. A weapon among them." Jaune pointed up at La Lune Verte. "Airship diplomacy is something everybody understands."

The intent gaze being leveled at him turned considering, complemented by a feral grin. "Oh? It sounds like you're preparing for hostile opposition. Will the mine yield results in time, then? If the Third Armada is set on coming here as you claimed, then I can't see them waiting for much longer."

The woman seemed to appreciate a warlike attitude if nothing else, which determined Jaune's reply, a mild hint of concrete actions taken against their mutual enemy.

"I will be making time. Even now, efforts to delay the Atlas fleet are underway in Mistral. My allies should be moving soon."

"Allies?" Blake asked, excited and curious. "Who?"

Jaune answered with an enigmatic smile.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

-o-

"We're supposed to believe that the guy just happens to find this stack of evidence that some evil secret cabal is acting behind the scene, and now the top bitch of the White Fang might not get her head chopped off? I call bull! Bull! And I'm not talking about that Adam Taurus guy, either. Arcadia and the White Fang are combining their forces, and the only reason they'd do that is to prepare for a war, I guarantee it."

"That, or prince Jauney and the tiger chick are banging."
-Posts made on social media platform Echo by Spring 'Sweet' Seranado, noted streamer and conspiracy theorist.

-o-

November 11, 81 GWE

The day I heard of what had occurred in Durnel and the broadcast that followed, my heart roared in triumph. At last, my dream has become reality. At last, I shall have my war.

The eyes of all faunus are now open. There can be neither peace nor negotiation. For the cause to which I have dedicated my life, a war to exterminate our enemies has always been the sole inevitability. It is the method by which we will finally seize dominion of Remnant from the humans.

Or so I thought.

Over the course of these recent weeks, I have arrived at the conclusion that my wish is a nightmare in truth, and I find myself wanting to strangle the fools who razed that settlement. I dreamt of war. I knew not what it meant. I believed in victory. I see ashes, now.

̶W̶e̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶w̶e̶a̶k̶ We are not ready, that is clear to see once I took stock of the resources available to our side. Our number and our passion were what won the last war, when faunus around the world rose up in rebellion, united as one. Warfare has moved on since those days. I curse the wasted years of peaceful demonstrations and so-called civil disobedience. The idyllic life of Menagerie, a memory I previously cherished, is proving to be a mistake for the stagnation it induces in our people.

Where the humans now soar through the skies, faunuskind wallows in the mud. Our armaments, amassed over a decade of effort, measure as toys to our enemy's might. An uncrossable ocean keeps our people split in two.

I am not sure what to make of the claim that Sienna has surrendered considering it sprouted from human mouths, but I doubt she is faring well in the event that resistance against the Arcadians continues. That project of hers is nowhere near complete, after all, and it's the only hope we have on the island of fighting back. Parts for it are sitting in the next tent over at the moment. Absolutely crucial to Menagerie and useless deadweight to me. We're lugging it around in the hope that it can someday be shipped across the sea.

̶I̶'̶m̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶h̶o̶l̶d̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶b̶r̶e̶a̶t̶h̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶a̶w̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶A̶r̶c̶a̶d̶i̶a̶n̶ ̶a̶i̶r̶s̶h̶i̶p̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶s̶c̶o̶u̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶v̶e̶s̶s̶e̶l̶.̶ ̶F̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶l̶,̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶a̶ ̶s̶h̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶l̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶l̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶i̶n̶.̶

I have one plan in the works.

A sympathizer to our cause has pointed to the festival in the city that is expected to draw away a majority part of the soldiers from the Mistral military base just over the mountain, leaving a diminished garrison to watch over the stockpile cached there, among which are three anti-airship artillery pieces that will hopefully bolster the two already in our possession. He, a wine trader, has obtained the contract to provide alcohol and entertainment to them for the night.

Aiding us in this raid will destroy his livelihood and citizenship in Mistral. He has agreed, nevertheless. It is good faunus as he that makes this struggle worth fighting.

Would the course I am taking, to challenge airships with not a single one of my own, result in my likely death? Yes. But the White Fang cause recruited me for my sword and willingness to risk my life, not my strategic acumen, and since literally nobody else had come up with anything that carries a better chance of success, it must do. The operation starts tonight. Tomorrow, we will have the means to strike at the Atlas fleet, or we will have died in the attempt.
*Note to self - don't mention the dying part in my speech later

I can already hear Wukong calling for dinner. The boy is an idiot and a glutton, but I would not begrudge him a last meal. He has proven himself.

Far more worrying are his companions. Humans and traitors to their own race, and I am expected to trust them? Safest bet is to part their heads from their necks right this second, would not it lose me the rest of Wukong's Sunny Troopers, faunus and humans alike. Awful naming sense aside, their numbers are nothing to scoff at, for all that they are formerly Academy students. The preliminary raids to gather Dust and smaller arms could not have gone so favorably without their presence.

̶P̶e̶r̶h̶a̶p̶s̶

̶I̶f̶

The humans will betray us at some point. That Wukong believes himself their friend would not stay their hands when the time comes. Of this, I am certain. For now, though, they have their uses.

And it seems dinner is going to be deer meat. Not bad.
-An entry from the personal journals of Adam Taurus, dated November 11, 81 GWE.

-o-

"I applaud the pluck and dedication of our little neighbor to the south. We in Vale will always support the efforts of peace and as a historical ally who shares many of our views, Arcadia has our full approval in their steps to make sure the White Fang does not regain a foothold on that island. Who knows, the next decade may well see the Great Kingdom of Vale lend our neighbor a hand in guiding Menagerie to a better future."
-Cyano Bedeau, Valean Councillor, answering questions on the steps of city hall. November 9, 81 GWE.

Author's Notes:

A mix of truths and lies. Everyone on Remnant has got their own agenda. Jaune Arc, more than most.

.

James Ironwood, a patriot.
Adam Taurus, a patriot.
But players and pawns are what matters in the Great Game.